Change of Heart
by Dunno12345
Summary: The Doctor has gone, leaving his humanoid clone with Rose. What they believe is a chance at domesticity quickly turns awry when they discover, with two hearts or one, trouble still has a way of finding them. (This is also available on my Wattpad.)
1. Chapter 1

The ride back was nothing short of awkward.

After leaving the beach far behind for what Rose hoped was the last time, she slid into the back of the car, staring out at the grey sky. Clouds were rolling in, dark and oblique.

Rose found it appropriate for the mood she was in. Like the storm, a core part of her raged, mounting like a dam ready to break. Her tears threatened to spill just as the sky threatened their own, but like it, they both held it in until there would be nothing left to use to block that dam.

It seemed, she had much in common with storms.

Beside her sat a man, his actions wary and slow, like he was waiting for the dam to break. He was in blue and Converse sneakers, hair sticking out in uncontrollable disarray, eyebrows inquisitive, Brown irises wide and calculating.

Rose could feel him watching her But she wasn't about to face him-not yet. Who he was. What he was. It took a bit more than a few minutes to wrap her head around that one.

A man who was the Doctor, but not a time lord.

A man who had one heart and not two.

A man who was a man and not an alien.

Rose scoffed audibly at that one. No, He was definitely still an alien, but the weird part was that that was the easiest piece of this mess to accept. She had no problems with aliens. It was the alien he was claiming to be that made her falter.

"Did you say something?" Said-alien asked from beside her, and she jolted at the voice. It was still the same, even if he quite literally wasn't. Finally, she met his eyes, for as briefly as she could without appearing hostile. "No. No, just thinkin.'"

He nodded which was her cue that it was okay to return her gaze to the window, the storm, as her mum took the front seat and started the engine.

"So Doctor," Jackie called from the front, putting the car in drive and starting off, the engine bubbling beneath them, "Can we still call ya Doctor? Or is that a bit confusing? Should I call you the Meta-crisis Doctor? Oh, that's a mouthful though, ain't it? I'd shorten it to Meta, but that just seems too feminine."

"Doctor's fine, Jackie," he answered quickly, with a cautious glance at Rose, who caught it from the window's reflection. "Is it all right with you?" He asked her.

Rose was about to say something, but Jackie beat her to it. "'Course it's all right," she answered on her daughter's (or her own) behalf. "Why wouldn't it be? You're the Doctor still, aren't you?"

The Doctor cleared hos throat, clearly uncomfortable with this topic-as of Jackie would have started with a different one. She wasn't exactly a woman prone to beating around the bush. She just saved time by pulling it up by the roots.

"Yes," he finally got out and Rose squirmed in her seat. "Technically, I am."

"Technically? Whaddya mean technically? You either are or you're not. Now which is it?"

"Well, you're Jackie Tyler aren't you?" The Doctor asked. "But you're also not. You're not every version of Jackie Tyler there is. You're one in this world. Parallel world. But to this world, there's another parallel world, and that world, exists a different Jackie Tyler. Or maybe she doesn't exist. Its basically the same thing with me except for a bit of a tweak anatomically."

"Oh!" She suddenly said. "Should we just call ya Clone?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "No. No, that's not good at all."

"I'm just offering suggestions."

"Please don't."

Rose didn't have to look to know a scowl marred her mum's forehead."What? You go by 'Doctor.' That's hardly original."

"Oi, It is original! I'm the only Doctor there is!"

"That's somethin' to say not twenty minutes after another one of ya flew off!"

The bickering felt strangely reassuring-at least that hadn't changed-but Jackie's words made Rose's chest tighten, her throat seeming to close with barely suppressed tears.

She wouldn't cry, though. Not here, not yet. This Doctor was as scared as she, maybe even more. She couldn't lose it in front of him.

Jackie seemed to realize her mistake and looked at Rose in the review mirror. "Sorry, Sweetheart. I didn't mean to-"

But Rose was quick to shake it off, quick to reassure her. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. Really."

She caught the Doctor's stare in her peripheral vision. Clone or not, he was still able to catch the truth woven beneath her words and he knew it wasn't fine. It wasn't fine at all.

* * *

"So this is the kitchen. Big, ain't it? Wish I were a better cook just to take advantage. Tried a cookin' class once. Didn't end well," Jackie said, showing off the kitchen she really didn't use to the Doctor with Rose trailing behind.

She had to give herself credit for holding it together this long, continuing her mantra, "just a bit longer" until she could go have a well deserved cry. Only then would she be able to decide what she was feeling.

"And this is the drawing room. Yeah, we got a drawing room. Dunno why they call it that," Jackie drowned on. "Am I s'posed to sit in here with a sketchbook and draw stick figures all day?"

"You do know I've been here already," the Doctor added before she could move on to the next room. "Sneaked through' round back as a waiter once."

"Oh, that's right," she said, worrying her nail. "Well, fine then. Rose can show ya to a room. We've got loads of 'em."

With an insistent look, Jackie disappeared up the stairs. Probably to check in on Tony, Rose concluded. It was late, or exceptionally early, for neither him nor Pete to be up and for the first time since...she couldn't even remember, Rose found herself stranded with the Doctor.

She glanced at him just as he did, before both of their gazes skirted away. "C'Mon," Rose said after an awkward beat, trying not to think of blue boxes, whispered words, or warm lips. No, she couldn't think about that.

He obliged, hands buried in his pockets as he traced her steps up the grand staircase, down a labyrinth of decorative halls and to a room. The walls were painted a dark, bluish hue which Rose thought might offer him some comfort, however meager it was.

It held nothing significant, nothing that he was used to. White bedspread, oak desk stationed in the far corner. Matching dressers. Bathroom. It was painfully plain in comparison to all they'd seen.

All her and the Doctor had seen, that was.

He gazed around, marveling appreciatively to a ridiculous degree. He swept a finger over one of the dressers. Rubbed them together. "Quaint," he muttered. Then swiveled around to face her. "Where's your room?"

Her eyebrows piqued and he quickly shook his head, cheeks going red. "You know, just so I know. Where it is. For...precaution, or-" he quickly trailed off, but Rose just gave him a small smile, albeit a little forced. "It's right down the hall," she answered. "Closest door to ya."

It was her turn slightly crimson. "Not that that's the reason I'm pickin' this room. I just thought you'd like...the blue."

Oh, the tension was painfully maybe it was simple awkwardness, but Rose suddenly felt like running away.

The Doctor swallowed visibly, tucking his hands deeper into the recesses of his pockets.

"Rose," he began after a few seconds of silence, her name hanging empty between them. There were a lot of questions in that one word. Lots of what-ifs and what should-have-been's.

He sighed, looking at her in earnest. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't...what you hoped for. But I need you to understand that I'm him. Maybe a bit more sour, but still him. I'm very sorry, though," he added. "That I couldn't be what you wanted."

Rose pursed her lips, nodding at his words. "S'not your fault. I'm not blamin' you," she said quickly, feeling the emotion swell in her throat, causing her next words to break. "And I get it. Sor' of. But the thing is, you being here doesn't mean he's not flying in the Tardis hurtin' somewhere. It doesn't just make that go away."

He nodded, eyes turning downward sadly. "I know. But the Doctor...He thought he was doing what was best for you." It was a pitiful defense, but nonetheless true. And even Rose knew it, whether or not she was willing to accept it.

"I'm not sure what to think. Best thing, worse thing. Its not the first time he's pulled that with me. And I just keep fallin' for it, don't I?"

The Doctor took a step forward but paused, clearly drawing his own conclusions that it wasn't his time yet. "It wasn't an easy decision," was all he could think to say.

"Well that's no better," Rose said, an edge in her voice. There was little point in reining in her tears now; they were going to spill sooner or later. "I don't want to know it was hard for him. It would've been easier if I knew he didn't care as much. Can you tell me that? Can you tell me he felt all right with leavin' me?"

A deliberate pause.

"No," the Doctor whispered. "I can't do that."

Rose felt the storm building, the dam cracking down its foundation. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see. Not wanting him to blame himself for it. "You should-" she coughed. "You should get some sleep. I'll see ya in the morning." And without another look at him, she darted down the hallway and into her room, locking her door behind.

It was just in time. As soon as she stepped inside, the dam broke, severing in two pieces and flooding all compartments, until Rose couldn't breathe. But she didn't fight it. No, she just dove beneath the surface and let it drown her again and again and again.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Rose," her name floated to her in a whisper, discordant and sad. Why was it sad?_

 _Rose blinked the fog from her vision, trying to see her surroundings. Her feet sucked sand, toes digging into the earth. The air was thick with the tang of salt and the bitter smell of seaweed._

 _She knew instantly where she was, yet struggled to place the name. It wasn't a kind place, but a painful one, full of hurt and goodbyes that shouldn't have been said._

 _But her focus on that dissipated when her eyes locked on something blue, standing desolate on the beach._

 _"I made my choice a long time ago," she heard herself say, in a detached voice filling the air around her, encasing her in a gust of cold. "_ _And I'm never gonna leave you."_

 _Pain blossomed across her chest and Rose started making her way to the Tardis, desperate to feel the old, familiar wood against her hands. Desperate to step inside._ _But the Tardis suddenly let out a whirr, a sound Rose was all too familiar with._ _She couldn't be on the receiving end of it. Not again._

 _"How long are you gonna stay with me?" The first voice chimed, deafeningly loud. Rose started walking faster, until she was running, kicking sand up in her wake._

 _"Forever," her own voice replied._

 _She pushed her legs harder, watching the Tardis fade in and out of existence. He wouldn't leave her again. He wouldn't he wouldn't he wouldn't._

 _"You just leave us behind," her voice said, the words assaulting her ears, her mind, targeting everything human. "Is that what you're gonna do to me?"_

 _Wait, she tried screaming, but his voice was louder than hers. "No," He said. "Not to you."_

 _Doctor! Rose begged, nearly there. Just a few more yards. Just a few more..._

 _"Am I ever gonna see you again?"_

 _Yes, Rose thought desperately. Im right here! Just open the door!_

 _"You can't."_

 _Rose stretched her fingers out, just as the Tardis gave one last hum, and her fingers enclosed over nothing._

 _No, Rose cried, staring at the empty space the Tardis had just occupied. Take me back, she begged. Take me back!_

 _"Take me back!" Her voice screamed around her, cocooning her in her own beggings. An image surfaced, of her hanging on to the console, demanding the Tardis to return to the Doctor._

 _"Take me back!" Rose shoved her palms over her ears as this memory flooded her, of hands banging on a wall until they'd gone numb with the force of it._

 _"Take me back!" And now, standing on a barren beach, staring at a place where the Tardis had just stood a moment before. Too many goodbyes spoken in too many ways._

 _Take me back!_

 _Rose pressed her hands to her head, as the voices blurred together, becoming a cacophony of unheard pleas that were no longer distinguishable from the next and were far from human._

* * *

She jolted up so quickly, she nearly toppled out of bed. Tears dampened her cheeks and clogged her throat, and Rose swiped at them pointlessly, trying to calm herself down. She glanced at her clock.

 _6:00am_.

She'd barely been asleep for a couple hours but it had felt like eternity. Assured that closed eyes only held more nightmares, Rose got out of bed and headed downstairs, catching herself in the mirror she passed.

Oh. Dark bags underlined her eyes, making them appear sallow in her puffy tear-streaked face. Her hair was ratted from her constant thrashing, skin still glistening with sweat. All in all, she looked ghastly.

 _Better now than at breakfast_ , she told herself, as she wandered into the kitchen. Night still dominated the sky and she had to flick on one of the lights to see, and moved the kettle on to the stove.

She took a seat at the table, lost in a mental state of nothingness, where she imagined a canvas of white. Rose focused so hard on picturing it that she was unaware of the footsteps coming down or the figure that appeared in the doorway.

"Rose?"

She whipped her head around so fast, the glistening canvas shattered, into a million frosty pieces.

The Doctor stood in the doorway, the blue robe hanging around him instantly reminding her of that Christmas Day. His hands were still shoved in his pockets, hair unkempt as usual and the sight gave Rose the absurd desire to cry again.

And judging by the way his brows furrowed in concern, he saw it, too. Before she even really registered what he was doing, he was in front of her, hand raised to her forehead. "You sick?" He asked.

Guilt bloomed inside Rose, at the feeling of comfort that came with his touch. Whether he was the actual Doctor, that touch hadn't changed.

She shook her head. "Couldn't...couldn't sleep."

He stared at her, and Rose saw no hint of the humor usually etched in his features. Without it, he seemed older,gaining the years his body's youth contradicted. "How long?"

"What?" She asked.

"How long have you been having them?" He clarified.

Rose bit her lip, not wanting to reveal this to him. But a part of her wanted that, to accept this Doctor and what he was. To, at the very least, let him in.

She took a shaky breath as he sat down. "They started after Canary Wharf," she admitted. "Big surprise. Happened a lot, then. But when I started workin' on the cannon, they stopped some. That's the first one in over a month."

His expression turned sorrowful and Rose cut him off before he could say anything. "And don't go pinning the blame on yourself. Or I won't be telling you anything."

His lips pulled up in a ghost of a smile, but it fell from them almost instantly. "I don't know how to help with this," he confessed. "I never...saw you this way. If it's one thing I don't feel often, it's not knowing what to do. And I hate that feeling."

"This isn't something that can be soniced back together," she said, trying to sound as light as possible. "Grieving's what a human does. What anything does. My mum said that grief is proof, of how much you loved someone. How much you were willing to sacrifice for 'em."

She let that dangle between them, at the unspoken word tethered to that statement.

Everything. Rose had been willing to give up everything.

"If it's..." the Doctor began, hesitant. "If it's too much for you with me here, I can...leave. Stay somewhere else until you want. Or-"

"No!" Rose nearly shouted, catching both of them off-guard. She clamped her lips shut and shook her head. "No, I don't want you to leave. That's not what I meant. Please don't."

She couldn't lose him, too. Not after everything else. A part of her had expected to feel...resentment towards a man who seemed to be a Xerox copy of the alien she loved, but she didn't. The Doctor had left him to her, not as a chore to busy herself with, but as a chance. A chance to be with him at a human pace, a slow path they'd walk together. A path they could walk only once.

"I just..." to her frustration, her voice cracked. "I can't have you leavin', too."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, eyes slightly widened in surprise. It quickly melted away, replaced by a mix of sadness an relief.

Rose had very little time to react before he was pulling her to him, in a tight embrace that threatened to break them both.

This. Yes, this was still the same.


	3. Chapter 3

"So these are the inner workings of domesticity," the Doctor said, eying the breakfast Jackie had just put out for him. He stabbed a muffin with his fork. "Can't say I'm all that impressed."

"You're even more agitating than usual earlier in the day. And to think I'd pegged you for a morning person," Jackie said, casting him a glare. "Guess I was wrong."  
"Wrong?" The Doctor asked, in mock-shock. "Rose, was it just me or did your mum actually admit to being _wrong_?"

Rose said beside him, still weary from her poor sleep but feeling somewhat rejuvenated. It would take a while to come to terms with everything-to quiet the dreams that woke her. To not seek out another way of getting back to the Doctor. The concept hurt more than she wanted to let on, but she would get there. One day.  
She gave him a wry smile. "I dunno. I'm not sure if I've even heard it."

"You two!" Jackie scolded them as if they were a couple of kids. "This is the thanks I get for makin' ya breakfast?"

"You burnt the eggs, " the Doctor pointed out. "On the contrary, I was wondering what I'd done to deserve this. How do you burn eggs?"

"I was tryna' poach 'em. "

"The operative word being _'try'_ ," he mouthed to Rose who pursed her lips to keep from smiling.

Just then someone scuttled outside the kitchen, brown eyes peeking around the door frame.

The Doctor raised a brow and leaned over to Rose. "I believe I just spotted a homo sapien beneath one hundred centimeters. Isn't that a bit short?"

"Tony, it's all right," Jackie soothed, her tone going from nagging to motherly in a nanosecond. The boy took a cautious step forward, toeing the border, uncertain.

"Oh, so this is Tony!" The Doctor beamed, smiling widely. "Honestly, though, not that surprised. His shortness gives him away. Unless this is Pete."

Rose had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Definitely not Pete. Tony, don't be scared. Don't you want to say hello?" She asked.

He took another step closer, and the Doctor glanced down at himself, wondering what was so scary about him. Blue suit. No shoes. Was it the feet?  
Finally, the child broke from his haven and ambled straight to Rose, barreling in her arms like a bull from a chute. She grabbed him before he could fall, scooping him up and rifling his hair.

His beautiful ginger hair.

The Doctor eyed it wistfully, a bit of jealousy swelling inside. "Why does he get to be ginger?" He mumbled under his breath, mouth setting into a grim smirk. Nine hundred years, he'd waited for that. And this human gets it in one go? Positively unfair.

Rose, oblivious to the Doctor's envy, smiled broadly at her brother. It was a different kind of smile than the one She gave him and the Doctor found himself marveling at it as her eyes met his.

"Tony, this is the Doctor," She introduced them, the boy's dark gaze lifting to reach his. The Doctor appraised him and his attire. "Spaceship jimjams!" He said, grinning at the kid's choice in bed-clothing. "We'll get along just fine."

"You're the Doctor?" Tony repeated.

The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, that's a complex question, better to ask me after you've taken a course in quantum mechanics. But since that's a bit of a ways off, I'll keep it simple. Yes, Tony Tyler. Oo,- that has a ring to it. Just rolls right out the mouth. Tony Tyler. Bit of a tongue twister, Tyler Tony Tyler Tony T-" He paused at the kid's blank expression and returned to topic. "Yes, Tony, I'm the Doctor."

"My sister built a rocket ship for ya, " Tony said, the pride evident in his young voice. "Did it work?"

The Doctor looked down, humor dying away before he forced it back into his voice for Tony's sake. "Yeah, Tony," he said. "It worked."

"Rosey did it, Mum!" He shouted in glee to his mother, as if she didn't know yet and he was the bearer of first-hand information. "She did it!"

"Yeah, its my pride and joy to be able to say that my daughter built a cannon to shoot her off into different worlds," Jackie huffed, but the Doctor could see real pride shining through her scorn.

"Where's Pete got to?" Rose asked. The Doctor didn't miss the fact shed barely touched her breakfast, whether burnt or not.  
Jackie shook her head, stirring something sizzling in a pan. "He was so wiped out, you'd think he was the one that went off in a spaceship and saved the world."

"You did, Mummy?" Tony asked, eyes widening.

Jackie pointed her spatula at him. "Yes, I did. And I'm not even speakin' metaphorically."

Rose smiled at that, But it was tainted with sadness. Would she ever help save anything again? Was she finished, being a part of something bigger?  
Rose shook that thought from her mind, letting it go in a sigh. "Why's Pete worn out? Anythin' happen with Torchwood?"

"Rosey calls Dad Pete," Tony informed the Doctor irrelevantly. "Do you call your Dad by his name?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Only when I'm cross."

"Oh you know," Jackie answered, still stirring ingredients that were clearly ready. Or had been so, a few minutes back. "Just late nights. He was real worried about us and wanted to make sure we hadn't become frozen space food."

"Ohh, Jackie, that's a bit dramatic," the Doctor chimed. "You wouldn't have become space food. Zillions and trillions of your atoms would have simply been scattered around. Or the transmat beam would've sent only part of you through, leaving a rather gruesome mess-"

"Doctor," Jackie warned, cutting him off sternly. "We've got underdeveloped brains in the room and I wont be havin' your words difiling 'em."

"Right," the Doctor coughed, glancing at Tony who was staring at him somewhat perplexedly. "Well, you're both alive, anyway," he added, flickering a gaze between Jackie and Rose uncomfortably. "Nothing to worry about. Except-" for this he specifically motioned Rose to come closer and she did so, leaning out of her chair at his incessant gesturing.

"Except for wha'?"

The Doctor's voice dropped a decimal. "Except that I don't know what I'm supposed to occupy myself with for the next twelve hours and thirty-six minutes."

Rose instantly retracted, rolling her eyes at him. "Well, humans don't go whizzin' around all the time. Humans get a job and use the money to buy a flat," she explained. "And then they pay things like bills and-"

"Do not say taxes," the Doctor demanded, eyes widening in barely suppressed horror. "No, anything but taxes."

"Mortgage?"

"That's practically a tax on flats! Ugh," a shiver snaked its way down his spine. "That's disgusting."

"You probably have a nice resume," Jackie piped in, shrugging as she finally poured out whatever inedible amalgam she'd concocted. "Be a real chore to fill it out, though. Take you just ages."

"Something I can't use leisurely anymore."

He didn't intend to come across somber, but the atmosphere suddenly dimmed, with both Rose and Jackie staring at him in concern.

The thought jarred him. He didn't know when it really hit, but it was acknowledged now and he abruptly sat forward, effectively scaring Tony."I have no time," the Doctor murmured, almost dazedly.

Jackie's concern dissipated. "Whatdya mean you got no time? You have plenty of it. Much more than I've got. That's hardly fair."

"No," He stood up so quickly he nearly knocked the chair over. He brought his hands to his head, gazing around the room wide-eyed. "I've got no time. Nothing. A human life. Do you have any idea how short a human's life is? Its barely a moment! One small shining second and then it blinks out! Just like that."

"Brings a real appreciation to the saying 'livin in the moment,' doesn't it, then?"

"Jackie, that's not appreciated," he shot back, now pacing the kitchen floor. "I'm in the middle of a crisis!"

"Oh, look, the meta-crisis is havin' a crisis. Didn't see that comin'."

"Mum, stop." Rose stood up,approaching him and stopping him before he could ram into her. He looked at her and for the first time, Rose saw genuine fear there.  
"Doctor, it's gonna be okay. Life's not really that short, just seems that way to you right now."

"Sixty seven seconds," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Sixty seven seconds. Sixty seven seconds gone since I started thinking about this that I will never ever get back. No, make that seventy five now."

"Should we slip him a xanax?" Jackie offered and Rose shot her a disapproving glare. She returned her attention to the panicky man before her.  
"Doctor. Look at me," Rose ordered, placing her hands on either side of his face. He complied, raising his brown eyes just enough to lock with hers.  
"You've got time. I promise. Not as much but like mum said, its about makin' it count."

"Didn't say that," Jackie mumbled from behind.

Rose ignored it, staring firmly into those eyes she'd looked into a thousand times before. "You don't get do-overs in this world," She told the Doctor." There's no runnin' away or escapin'. You can't go back and try again. What you do from now on sticks. Here, you've only got one shot."

"I'm not finding this very comforting," he bit, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "Lemme finish. But it's because you've only got one shot that it matters all the more. You've got less time to share and give what you got. Less time to put things off and do 'em later. You thought you were always livin on the edge of danger, and you were. But this is a different kind because you don't know when it'll be snatched from you. So all you can do, Doctor, is choose how you're going to spend the time given to you. And how you're gonna make your one shining moment count."

Maybe it was her words. Maybe it was the confidence she said them in, but the Doctor found his lone heart steadying, as he gazed back into her eyes. A second passed before he allowed himself to breathe. "Yeah," he said finally. "Okay. Good."

"Better?" She asked.

He still seemed a bit uncomfortable and tried to nod. But with Rose still gripping the sides of his face, he couldn't.

It suddenly dawned on her how close they were standing and Rose quickly moved away, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "You calmer now?" She asked from a safe distance away, using her hair to shield her blush.

"Yeah," but his voice came out unusually high and squeaky. He cleared it.

"See that, Tony?" Jackie asked, scraping the burnt meal into the trash before coming to the table and hefting up her son. "That's called angst."


	4. Chapter 4

"I've seen a lot of things in the universe," The Doctor started, tone clearly disapproving, "but twenty-nine pounds for a jumper? That's a steal, and not ours."

Rose gave a bemused shake of her head. They had been trapsing around the shops for the morning, trying to find a collection of clothing for the Doctor. He'd been in denial for some time about getting new clothes _-"a morbidly human pass-time_ ," he'd said, but eventually caved, with little choice in the matter. Rose pulled off items on the racks she'd think he'd like, staying in the suits and robes department. Every time she chose something, though, the Doctor swooped in and took it from her, refusing her to lug around his stuff, as he'd put it.

"What about ties?" she asked, moving onto a shelf of them. "Do you still like ties?"

The question threw the Doctor for a loop. Not because he didn't know (he still loved his ties), but how impassively she'd asked it. Rose wasn't pretending he was the Doctor-the one who'd flown away for the umpteenth time. She wasn't pretending he wasn't the Doctor. She'd just asked if he still liked ties and he found he had to swallow back the sudden lump of emotion.

This was an offering of acceptance, and he knew.

"What?" She asked, catching him watching her. He flicked his gaze away, made it look like he'd caught a dust particle in the eye. "Nothing. Yes! Ties! 'Is too bad I don't have my azure tie. Got that one from Calisova. Gift from their queen."

"How' bout this one?" Rose offered holding a pattern out.

He gave it a distasteful look. "That's cobalt."

Rose snatched up a different one and raised it, scrutinizing his smirk.

"Prussian blue."

She picked another.

"Ultramarine."

"And they call women undecided," she jabbed as she laid the ties back down. Before he could complain, Rose chose a brown one, forgetting the blue.

"That reminds me," she said as they ambled to the check out counter, with their collection of five suits, four bathrobes, and one tie. It sounded like the opening to that unending Christmas song.

"We still gotta give you a name."

"What, like a pet?" The Doctor asked, whistling for effect. "Pretty sure I already have a name, thanks."

"No," she smiled, "I mean a human name. Somethin'..."

"Boring?"

"Oi, Doctor is an English word, after all!" She fired back. "But you need something inconspicuous. Just for records and such."

He shrugged, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck."I've gone by John Smith. Once or twice before."

It was Rose's turn to look distasteful.

"What?"

"John Smith," She tried it out. "That's so tacky."

"Tacky?" His eyebrows rose in false hurt. "You're the one saying I need a name. What's more boring than John Smith?"

"No one's gonna believe that's your name," she said, dismissing the cashier that finally turned to assist them. "It's so cliche. It screams alias!"

"What do you think then?" He asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Daniel? Daniel Smith?"

She shook her head. "I think we've had enough Smiths. Its gettin' confusing. No, keep John. John's fine. But you still need a last one..."

"I can't believe I have you naming me," he said, And Rose could tell it was taking restraint for him not to bust out laughing. "'M finding it all a bit unofficial."

"I've got it!" Rose practically screamed, giving him a brilliant smile that made the dark lines under her eyes disappear. It was reflex, that had him smiling back.

"Run," she said. "John Run."

His grin turned into his usual cheeky one. "Brilliant! John , that's just brilliant. You, Rose Tyler, are brilliant!"

Her smile broadened impossibly more, the sight as satisfying as a breath of fresh air. But when the cashier, with a few questioning glances at them, ringed them up, Rose turned her attention on the cost. She grabbed at her back pocket, retrieving her wallet from inside.

"Are you paying?" The Doctor asked, suddenly wished he'd brought money. Or had had money to bring. That was always good.

But her smile didn't lessen any as she handed over a card. "There are some things, Doctor, that even you still can't change."

* * *

A few minutes later, once walking out of the shops, Rose got a call from Pete.

"How ya doing, Sweetheart?" He asked, and Rose both liked the fatherly address and didn't. Pete wasn't a clone like the Doctor. This Pete most definitely wasn't her Pete, but shed spent two years growing used to it. She wouldn't replace her father with him, though. Just as she wasn't replacing the Doctor.

"Fine, Pete. Good. How's things with you?"

"Busy," he answered." Sorry I missed you this morning, but I was hoping you'd come by Torchwood, if it's not too inconvenient."

Rose stopped walking. Alertness suddenly entered her voice, and the Doctor didn't miss it. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Pete was quick to reassure, but he hesitated. "No, no, Love. At least, its not an urgent matter. We'll talk when you get here and you'll see what I mean."

Rose didn't feel so certain but agreed. "All right. See you in a bit."

The line went dead and she shoved her phone in her pocket, chewing on her lip worryingly.

The Doctor was still watching her, noting her grim expression. "Who was it?"

"Just Pete," she answered, already tailing down a taxi. "Says he wants us at Torchwood. D'you mind?"

The Doctor pursed his lips but shrugged. "Think I've had enough of the domestic life for a day."

* * *

Rose wasn't exactly a Torchwood fanatic. In fact, the inside of it had haunted her on a daily basis, the memories of Canary Wharf, of voids and slipping fingers.

It wasn't technically the same as before, but it might as well have been.

They arrived at the structure within twenty minutes, the tower looming above them and drenching them both in its shadow. But this only showed half the building; the rest was like an iceberg, bigger beneath than it seemed from above.

With a glance at the Doctor, Rose could tell he didn't like this either. Without even thinking about it, She intertwined her fingers in his.

"We call it Torchwood Central. In the middle. London was home to the first one. Well, the other London," Rose enunciated. "And Torchwood Three is in Cardiff. There's a fourth one, but we could never locate it. Not in this world, anyway."

The Doctor gazed up, appraising the massive tower, rows of windows gleaming like teeth. This was usually the moment he'd say something to get a smile out of her, But no jokes came to mind.

"Torchwood three was based around a rift in time and space and was established in 1899," he rattled off, his research surfacing at his command. "Torchwood one was obviously destroyed. Then abandoned. No one bothered to fix it up. Do you have a Torchwood India here? Operating in Delhi?"

Rose shook her head. "Nope."

"Huh. Did you know the first had a base beneath the Thames Flood Barrier? "

Rose lips pulled up at his questions, humored by his knowledge. "I didn't."

"Well, it does. Did. Not anymore, though. Shall we, then?"

Rose nodded, ignoring the feeling she always got before heading into the steel double doors. She hadn't been in here since she'd finished the cannon, and the place instantly brought back the memories, long nights spent over calculations; clusters of coffee mugs gathered around a table.

This was her life without the Doctor and she squeezed the hand she held tightly, finding reassurance in its solidity.

Inside, the air seemed to hold a chill, sending goosebumps up Rose's arms as her and the Doctor headed past the Secretary's desk, down a long sterile hall, devoid of anything feeling. They could've been in a hospital, for all the blank walls that surrounded them.

At the of one hallway stood a metal door and Rose pulled out a card, sliding it across the reader's surface, a red light turning green.

"Welcome, Rose," a perfunctory voice chimed in artificial greeting. The Doctor cast it a glance as they walked through. "Hospitable," he muttered beneath his breath.

"I call her Jean," Rose said.

"Why Jean?"

"She sounds like a Jean. Plus," She made her tone lighter, "I wanted someone to get angry at when we went through a rough patch in engineering the cannon. I didn't want to be yellin' at people who were just trying to help."

The Doctor tightened his grip on her, struggling to find a response. "Good' ol Jean," is what he settled on.

They went down another hallway, this one empty of windows, this one noticeably darker and made of what was clearly steel. They reached a lift, a line of numbers going only down.

"How deep does this go?" The Doctor asked, staring at the buttons, impressed.

"'Round eight-hundred metres. Seven floors down," said Rose. "Aerospace engineering, esoteric forensics, alien analysis labs, the relic room, library, astrophysics, and storage," she flashed him a grin.

He returned it, chest expanding with pride. "Look at you. Rose Tyler, Science Wizard."

"Just remembered after I was told' bout a dozen times."

"Could'a fooled me. And we both know that's not an easy thing to do."

They shared grins as the lift dropped down. The button with the two flashed as the doors swung open, revealing yet another hall, just as dreary but with a little more fluorescent lighting. It was simple enough; glass windows lined the walls, showing rooms with all kind of lab equipment and bulky machinery. The Doctor eyed it all, speculative, giving it a nod of approval. "Why don't they just combine esoteric forensics with the analysis labs?" He asked her.

Rose couldn't deny the small bit of gratification she felt at actually being the one supplying the answers for once. "Esoteric forensics are used to make sure something's alien or not. And then it's sent to the labs for analysis. Here, they try to figure out whether it's domestic or not and how it got here. Then the labs find out what it is and where it came from."

The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Efficient. Very efficient. Its like a playground for space junkies!"

"Well you can't go digging in the toy box yet," Rose said, steering them towards one of the rooms where a few people were gathered around some screens. "First lets see what Pete wants and then I'll give you the tour."

"Relics room first?" he asked excitedly. "Oh, do you got a Roxfurr Scepter? Maybe a few Orkle hairs?"

She smiled. It was like a kid given full access to Disneyland. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

They entered the room, three heads turning up at their arrival. One of them was Pete, his hair seemingly more grey than the Doctor recalled. Then again, he never really took a close enough look at Pete's head, only bothering to do so now after seeing Tony. Ah, so Pete was the bearer of the ginger allele. Luck out.

He instantly came over, a smile plastered to his face as he encased Rose in a hug, forcing her hand out of the Doctor's. He didn't really care for that, but grinned nonetheless. "Pete," he nodded in acknowledgement. "Good to see you again."

"You too, Doctor," he said. "Or... is it _my_ first time?"

"Take it Jackie filled you in on the whole one-hearted time lord shenanigans, did she?" He asked, making a spooky gesture with his fingers and gave a ghostly whistle.

Pete opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "Yeah, I'm still a bit lost on what that actually means."

The Doctor clasped him on the shoulder. "You wouldn't be the first one and as delighted as I'd be to shuck you into a long and arduous discussion, it'll have to wait. What've you got?"

Rose smiled at his straightforwardness. Another thing that was still very Doctor.

Pete motioned them to the screens where two other people sat in front of them. "This is professor McGill, and Doctor Hasvard. " Pete introduced, gesturing to a dark haired woman nearing her forties and a grubby man who's hair had practically fled his entire scalp. "This is Rose, my stepdaughter, and the Doctor."

"Doctor?" Hasvard asked, raising a thick brow.

The Doctor grinned. "Wait for it," he mouthed to Rose.

"Doctor what?"

"Oh," the Doctor said dejectedly. "Well that's disappointing."

"Doesn't matter," Pete intervened. "He's just the Doctor."

"No, I'm Run," the Doctor clarified, extending a hand. "John Run. Doctor John Run. Specializing in,well...bit of everything, I 'spose. I'm a dabbler. I dabble."  
He beamed at the other Doctor who still seemed somewhat uncertain but let it go. The woman-professor McGill, wasn't paying much attention to either of them. "Can we please get back to topic?" She asked, and a bit rudely, but it was too early on the weekend to be judging.

"Yes!" The Doctor shouted, clapping his hands together that released a thunderous boom. "Lets. Now, Doctor, Professor, Pete, what seems to be the problem?"

Pete moved to one screen and pointed to it. To both the Rose and the Doctor, it seemed to be nothing more than a list of names. Gabriel Thomas, Angela Reynolds, Christine Larett...

"This is a list," Pete explained, "of individuals gone missing the past year. Over forty five of' em in all."

"Forty five?" Rose breathed, jaw gaping. "Bit extreme for a serial killer. Couldn't have been a single person."

"No, it couldn't," her stepfather concurred. "We'd heard of this a while back, round when there were only a couple dozen missing. Didn't become involved until we started looking into it as a security measure." He pointed to another screen, this one holding bits of information regarding each victim along with exact dates they'd gone missing on.  
"Each person was found twenty four hours after they disappeared."

"Why's that significant?" The Doctor asked.

"Because," Pete turned to another screen, one of a global map scattered in red dots. "They were found at opposite points they were taken in. Gabriel Thomas, taken from Cardiff last May was recovered in Sacramento California," he said. "Reported twenty four hours later."

"That's a long ways to go to dispose of a body," Rose mused, sympathizing with the victim. He was young, with sparkling blue eyes and a dimpled smile.

But Pete kept going. "Angela Reynolds," he said, gesturing to an older blonde woman. "Disappeared from Sheffield in January and found in Zurich, Switzerland. Same time report. Twenty four hours after alleged kidnapping."

Neither Rose nor the Doctor spoke, an offer for him to continue. Pete began fingering the red dots, hand crossing over the screen. "Christine Larett. Missing from Nottingham, body found in Westbrook, Maine. That's when we finally decided to cross-check them with other missing persons' report, and what did we get?"  
Pete answered his own question. "Reports comin in from Moscow. Berlin. Bejing. Argentina. Cairo. First we thought it could be someone with access to a private airline, but when the bodies kept being reported at twenty four hours past, we knew it wasn't. The reports were called in locally, traced back near the disposal sites. All phone calls recorded, too. As well as eye witness accounts."

"A missing person found outside the country is usually filed as a Jane Doe," Hasvard interjected, turning his beady eyes back on them. "But identified twenty four hours later?" He scoffed. "Practically unheard of."

"And," McGill added, still watching the screens. "That's not even the weirdest part."

The Doctor raised his brows. "What could be weirder than that?"

"Maybe you can form a theory, Doctor Run," she said, finally turning her attention fully onto him. "How does a twenty year old woman go missing last month, just to wind up discovered with matching dental records, but an autopsy report saying she's been dead for ten years?"


	5. Chapter 5

There was a moment of silence in the room, so quiet they could've heard a pin drop.

"Ten years?" the Doctor finally said, mouth falling slightly agape. "Ten?"

"And counting," said Pete. "We were just starting to look into that specifically when the reports kept saying the body was days old, yet only recovered twenty four hours after going missing. The authorities started calling it a mistake, a malfunction. But they couldn't keep turning their heads when bodies started going from a few days post mortem, to years."

Rose was staring wide-eyed and blew out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "How-"

"What's the oldest body recovered?" the Doctor interrupted, looking expectantly at Pete.

"Allen Talf. Twenty-five years."

"Maybe it's a human with a private airline _and_ a time machine," Rose muttered under her breath.

The Doctor passed a hand over his forehead, pinching it as he usually did. Then he began pacing, much like he'd done this morning, a hand under his elbow as he contemplated. "Quarter a century," he said. "And for them to die exactly a day after they disappear? That's strange. Bizarre. Outré."

"Outré?" Rose asked.

"It's French. Must be some kind of...I dunno, aging accelerator? Greedy aliens sucking people dry like human juice boxes," the Doctor made a sucking noise for emphasis. "What do the authorities think?"

"Nothing," Pete deadpanned. "They stopped looking after they got the first autopsy report going into years. Said it was impossible and started looking elsewhere."

"So they didn't contact you?" Asked Rose.

Pete shook his head, finally turning away from the screens. "We received an anonymous tip. There are people out there who research discrepancies and holes like this. Every once in a while, they call in when things don't add up."

"Well that's a minor understatement. Look at this, haven't been back a day and already there's a new species in town." Despite the situation, the Doctor grinned. "So, Chief," he added, saluting Pete. "Are you sending us in?"

He spared a look between him and Rose. "Is that all right? I figured you'd be able to help. Both of you. But if you need time to recoup, we could-"

"People are goin' missing and you think we just want to sit at home?" Rose asked, disbelieving. "Since when did that ever stop us before?"

* * *

"Well this is uplifting," the Doctor muttered, staring down a dirty white-tape outline that had clearly been there for awhile. They stood inside an alleyway between two brick buildings, not thirty miles from Torchwood. Rose held a file in her hand, studying the scene and standing in such a way she thought an authoritative figure would. "I'm feeling very CSI." She said.

The Doctor smiled. "Now all you need is the black suit and intimidating stare."

"What? I'm not intimidating?"

"Please, You're named after a flower."

She gave a small shake of her head, trying not to laugh. This wasn't a place that should hear laughter.

"Okay, Marilyn Dover," Rose read off,staring at the image of a brunette woman. "Thirty eight years old, gone missing after taking out the dog. In Glasgow." Rose puckered her lips, maintaining the 'o' longer than needed. "Bit of a commute, that is."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, kneeling down where the body had been. He ran a finger down it and held it up, rubbing it between his thumb. "Its times like these when I miss my screwdriver. Well, actually this is a first. Haven't ever not had my sonic, you see. You'd think he'd have at least left me a spare."

Rose dismissed the referral to him before it could register on her features. "There were spares? What, like a sonic closet?"

"Not exactly a spare, then. He could've whipped me up one, though. would've taken a bit of twiddling and tweaking. Twenty minutes tops. But nope. No sonic, no Tardis, no azure tie."

"Now you're just bumming me out," said Rose crouching down beside him. She glanced at him sideways. "We just got to do this the human way."

"You mean the slow way."

Rose ignored the jab and returned her attention to the file. "She was found by a local tenant, after taking out the trash. That must've been quite the surprise. 'Good evening, Miss. Here's a murder for ya. '"

"Glasgow to here," mumbled the Doctor. "That's approximately 628 kilometers. You're right; that's quite the commute."

"What d'you think it might've been?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I dunno. Oh, that's annoying. But I suspect some type of nutrients siphon, perhaps. But that doesn't explain how the radiocarbon dating estimated some remains to be years old."

Rose no longer felt she grasped The entirety of what he was saying. When did she ever?" Whatdya mean?"

"The age," He explained, looking at her. "The age the remains had been there for. A siphon couldnt change that. If anything, it just dries someone up. Making em into human raisins. Like the one on the Russian sub base. 'Member that?"

"Dead scientists tryin for immortality?" She reminisced. "Not a thing to forget."

He grinned before standing back up and gazing around. "Don't think we'll find much here. Can't talk to the locals, either. Don't want authorities sticking their big bulbous noses in our business," he said, popping the b's.

Rose stood as well, shaking out her legs and nodding. "All right. Off to the next...disposal site, then? Can't exactly make that sound inviting."

The Doctor dipped his chin in solemn agreement. "Yeah. Lets go pay Jerry a visit."

Jerry Stroth was the twentieth victim. But his body hadn't been identified yet, merely speculated after a notice had gone out of one of his recovered belongings on the body that his family had soon called in.

He'd been discovered in an abandoned house, by a couple of kids that had sneaked inside. But the man no longer resembled the middle-aged person in the photograph, just a pile of splintered bone, peeking up from the dirt.

"Hasn't been excavated yet," the Doctor said, Not bothering with any gloves as he touched a protruding rib. "Odd."

"They don't even think this is him," Rose recited, staring down sadly at the remains. "Too old. Not just the bones but the age of him. Said it belongs to an elderly man, not someone of thirty five."

"Probably think it's some elaborate hoax done up by a bunch of twisty-minded people." The Doctor made a buzzer sound. "Wrong."

"Still think it's your siphoning thing-y. Theory, or whatever?" Asked Rose.

The Doctor smacked his lips. "Siphon Theory! I like that. We'll call it that. I think it could be. Again, maybe it's got some aging accelerator. Or maybe that's just the result. All guesses. All speculation. Like a real investigator." He grabbed his lapels for effect.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest, taking up pacing herself. "So an alien that uses some kind of alien siphon to suck up what it needs and just leaves people...older?"

"And on their deathbed a day later," the Doctor said. He turned his finger towards the light, catching the grime he'd swiped from the rib there. "This process is so tedious, I almost have to write up my own report. Me, _reporting._ Ugh," he shook his head in disgust.

Rose wasn't really paying attention, too focused on the half-buried bones, ribcage jutting up through the ground and curled like pale fingers. "Have you seen somethin' like this before? Well after...After me?"

Awkward silence. Rose counted to three in her head before the Doctor jumped up, masking his discomfort with flamboyancy. "Nope. Nothing like this. I mean, I've had my fair share of walking into strange things. I've seen all kind of suckers like this before. Water suckers, blood suckers and many variations in between but this...this is unusually...unusual."

"Should we risk it then?" She asked. "Talking to the locals, I mean?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Don't really see much of a point. What are they going to tell us? That they found a body? Tripped over a bone? Nah, that's no good."

"So we can add no additional information to the list of what we haven't got," said Rose, albeit a bit pensive. "Now what?"

"Now what? Now what is the question!" The Doctor exclaimed, and began walking the perimeter of the body. "We've barely got the what down. And we need to kbow the what to find out the how. Or if we find put the how, it could lead us to the what Which procures the why. We can't start out with why, though. Why doesn't lead to either of those and you find nothing but yourself smack down a dead end."

"Probably bad choice of words," rose mumbled.

The Doctor blew out a raspberry. "Yeah. Yeah. That was a tad insensitive of me."

"And right now we don't know much other than it's alien and your siphon theory that has holes in it anyway," she added.

"Oi, there's no need for criticism! But you're right. We don't know the why, the what, and very little of the how. Is this How you humans feel most of the time?"

"Now who's critisizing?"

The Doctor shoved his hands deep into his pant pockets and twisted on his heel, stopping to wait for Rose. "Off to the next one, then. 'Til we find something-" He wriggled his eyebrows at her- "spooky."

* * *

They started down the five remaining disposal sights closest to them. Marsha Davis was found in the middle of a road. Greg Mores, discovered in a warehouse and not far from it, Lilly Arvins was recovered near the Thames. Then there was Matthew Lin, who'd been spotted by workers at a construction site, which was where the Doctor and Rose stood now, gazing down yet again and a body reduced to bone fragments.

"Is it just me," Rose began. "Or does more people seem to be found in London than anywhere else?"

The Doctor gave her an appreciative look. "Ding, Ding, Ding. It clearly started here. Probably Why it's important. Send Pete a message, will you? Ask him if any old bones-hah, old bones-have been discovered anywhere else or if it's just here."

"On it," Rose retrieved her phone and did as he said.

They received a reply shortly afterwards.

"He says no," Rose said. "So...that would mean-"

"That London is the launch pad," the Doctor enunciated. "The head of the operation. The painted bullseye. Well, least we know the where."

"Does that tell us anything, though?"

"In this case,...not much. But don't Polly your pessimism yet, Rose. We've still got one last name to go. William Burrows. But it's getting late," the Doctor said, casting a wary eye to the falling sun. "Should be pick it up first thing tomorrow?"

But Rose was already heading back the way they'd come. "No, let's keep goin. These poor people didn't have a choice in the matter; if we still got time, we owe it to 'em to find out what we can."

The Doctor trailed behind her, a huge smile plastered to his face. "Rose Tyler, ladies and gents."

* * *

"This place is giving me the creeps, " Rose said quietly, following closely next to the Doctor. Headstones surrounded them, slabs of granite murmuring long forgotten names and meager epitaphs that hinted at what these dead used to be.

Already the light from the sky was leeching away, leaving whisps of shadows that seemed to dance around them. Scraggly branches snaked over the foliage, a dozen gnarled hands snatching at Rose's hair and jacket the farther they went. William Borrows had been found off the path, deep in the heart of the cemetery that like its residents, was still.

"Why are you whispering?" The Doctor asked her as they walked, leaves crunching beneath their feet.

Rose suddenly became aware she had been and cleared her throat, stumbling over a loose branch. "I dunno. Its just something you do in graveyards."

"Some people find it a restful place to drink."

"Restful?"

"I keep doing that."

"It's just all too Night of the Living Dead," she breathed. "Don't you reckon?"

"Oh, I hope not," the Doctor said, ducking beneath a branch and holding it back for Rose to slip under. "I really really hope not."

A few meters more and they finally came across the site, easy to spot once knowing what to look for. Yellow tape, protective, transparent covering. Brittle bones beneath it.

"William was the newest victim, yeah?" the Doctor asked, stooping down just enough to peek under the cover.

Rose nodded, even though his back was to her. "Yeah. No report on this man, though. The authorities didn't connect it. Or wouldn't. Bet they think this is some misplaced body."

"You humans just love to deny things, don't you?"

"You seem to be forgettin you're part human, too."

"Don't remind me."

He dusted off his hands and began casing the area, visibility poor due to the failing light.

"Hmm..." the Doctor narrowed his eyes, catching the dull glint of something wedged in the dirt nearby. It was a bit harder to see, but the Doctor's retinas were stronger, part human or not.

He moved over to the small object and started digging, pulling out a clump of soiled dirt.

Rose peered around him. "What is it?"

"Looks like..." the Doctor began, freeing it from the soil. It glimmered a polsy gold in his palm. "A ring!"

"He was married?" Rose asked. "But he was just nineteen."

"Just like you."

"I'm not nineteen anymore."

"Ah, you'll always be nineteen to me. And look," he added, turning the ring on its upside. "An inscription!"

"What's it say?"

He squinted his eyes to see the words better. "'Always and... forever...William and...Cynthia. Such a nice name, Cynthi-"

He dropped off, the word dying in his throat as he stared at the inscription.

Rose felt him stiffen, feeling panic flood her as it did every time something worried him. "What?" She asked, trying to get a clearer view herself. "What is it?"

"1945," He whispered, still staring at the ring. "The date...says 1945."

Before Rose could get out a question, The Doctor stood back so quickly he nearly fell onto the remains. His eyes went wide as he turned in circles, staring around him in a panic.

"What is it, Doctor?"

""I've made a mistake," he said, his tone cold and flat. "A horrible horrible mistake."

Rose placed a hand on his arm. "What kind of mistake? Doctor, what's-"

"Put your back to me," he told her suddenly, twisting her shoulder until she was facing the gorse woods. "Put your back to me!"

She pressed against him, feeling the terse fabric of his suit there, too scared to question it.

"Turn your phone light on," he instructed.

She did, her shaky fingers almost causing the phone to slip through them. "Doctor...?"

"Keep the light in front of you!" He ordered and she did, pressing down her panic and holding the phone aloft.

"Now Rose," the Doctor gasped, and she heard her own fear mirrored in his voice.

"Don't look away from your light. Don't turn around. And whatever you do, don't blink."


	6. Chapter 6

"What?" Rose asked, her voice pitching up in terror, "what is it?"

But before the Doctor Could answer, Rose felt her eyes shut, just for a moment.

It was enough.

A shadow loomed over her, the figure statuesque with a face frozen in time. Stone and regal and something that hadn't been there just a moment before.

"Weeping Angels," The Doctor said.

"Got that, thanks."

"Rose, listen carefully," he instructed, snagging her free hand in his and holding on. "Weeping Angels are quantum-locked, meaning they can only move when you aren't looking at them. But the moment you look away-the moment you bat an eye...they're free."

"Is it gonna kill us?" She thought, only assuming after shed said it how stupid a question it was. Why wouldn't it? What else was new?

She felt the Doctor's hair ruffle as he shook his head. "No. Well, yes. They kill slowly. That's why they're known as kind assassins. "

Rose gawped, straining to keep her eyes open. The slight breeze she hadn't noticed before now offered no help. "Oh, that's generous," she quipped. "Exactly how slow?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Give or take fifty years."

"What?"

"They feed off temporal energy," he explained, "which it gets from lopping you back in time."

It clicked and Rose had to remember not to blink, instead trying to shift from eye to eye. "So that's how-"

"Yup. Also Also explains how the victims went from being days old to years. They were the first, and each one after made the Weeping Angels stronger, allowing them to eventually shuck people like William Burrows all the way back into the 1940's."

"So..." Rose drawled, having to force her feet to stay where they were and keeping her eyes open and on stone. The phone light cast an eerie brightness over the chiseled face, illuminating its deathly hue. "Do we run?"

"For once...no," the Doctor said ."No, running would be a very bad, very very bad idea. Unless you're good at running backwards. Through the woods. At night."

"Don't think I practiced much on that front," Rose muttered and heard the Doctor swallow. "No harm in checking. All right, we'll do things slow, then. Rose, how many are in front of you?"

"Now you tell me there's more than one?" Her eyes widened. "A warning would've been nice."

"I said Weeping Angels. _Sssss_. Plural."

Rose resisted the urge to blink but grit had gotten there now and on reflex, her eyes fluttered shut.

When she opened them, she screamed.

"Rose?! Rose how many?"

She stared around her and the small light her phone offered, saturating the area in a dull haze. Stones rose from the ground, reaching towards her, faces peeking at her from various places.

"Five? Six?" She barely managed, shoving the words past her lips. "Can't we outrun them?"

"Trust me, they're faster than you. And me. Which I admit somewhat resentfully," he added.

"Doctor?" She ground impatiently.

"All right, all right! Here's what we'll do. You go in front of me and I'll do the backwards-running!"

"What if they come from the sides?"

His voice faltered and Rose sensed his hesitancy to respond with the truth. "It's a fair possibility, But having no other option forces one to be a bit more lenient!"

Rose had the sudden urge to scoff. "Which way then? They're right in front of me!"

"Fine we'll go-" his words snapped off abruptly.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice trembled in fear.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "How many did you say you had? Five? Six?"

"About."

"I'll take your six and raise you three. So, correction, we are going your way. Keep your eyes open, light in front of you and do not let go of my hand. That's the most important one, you got it?"

Rose could feel her heart slamming against her chest and she focused on looking at someplace other than into those cruel, formidable faces. She squeezed his hand in answer.

"All right, then on three. One!...Two...!"

"Three!" Rose shouted, charging forward. The Angel smeared by and panic surged when her gaze flicked away, to ahead where stone faces leered out of the corner of her eye.

"Faster, Rose!"

She tried to listen, clambering up the hillside, feeling her feet squelch in dirt and mud. The day seemed to lose the last remnant of light, causing the darkness to press in from all sides. Rose held her phone up, grateful for its small beam, but her heart jumped in her throat when it flickered, casting them in a second of shadow.

Two figures materialized, all stone and stretched hands and Rose halted so quickly, digging her heels into the ground that the Doctor slammed into her, nearly throwing them at the creatures' feet.

"This way!" Rose turned, keeping her eyes on them for as long as possible as she passed. Her light flickered again.

"Why's it doing that?'

"It's them!" The Doctor gasped. "They're causing the interference. "

"That's just great!" Rose lamented, fumbling over a large stone. "Is there anything they can't do?"

The Doctor huffed as he followed. "Fly? Bit ironic. Wings and can't fly."

"Now's not the time to be crackin' jokes!" Rose scorned, but it came out pitched and panicked. They tumbled over the loose terrain, their light source flickering haphazardly, dunking them in darkness again and again like bobbing apples. Every time it did, those _things_ appeared, just a couple meters away, silently watching them.

Rose felt her fear mount, pushing as hard as she could through the ground, not feeling the scrape of branches caress her cheeks and snag at every inch of her. But just ahead, Rose could make out the headstones, black slabs of shadow slicing up from the earth.

"Almost there!" She gasped out, breath ragged and burning. "We're almost-"

Something caught. Rose imagined stony fingers latching around her ankle as she went sprawling, slamming against the ground with a dull thud. The Doctor lost his footing, too and fell beside her, grunting at the impact. Both of them flipped over as they could, trying not to spare a second, but a second was all it took for Rose to lift the light.

She came face to face with stone, just inches away from empty, soulless eyes that bored into hers.

Rose gripped the Doctor's hands so tight, she was distantly aware of the pain she was probably causing, but he didn't seem to notice. They were both lying on their backs in the dirt, Weeping Angels towering above, a sea of frozen faces swimming in the small light.

Rose didn't breathe. Her joints locked in place, grasping her only two protection sources with bloodless fingers. "What now?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper, carried to the Doctor on a gentle breeze.

The Doctor's silence spoke louder than anything else and Rose recognized his reluctance. It was the same kind that told her the way out was either improbable or impossible and that she wouldn't be too keen to attempt either of them.

His thumb passed over her knuckles in reassurance. "Do you trust me?" He asked.

A feeling expanded over her, a sensation that lent her strength-a confidence she'd gained only by seeing all she had. Glimpsing golden ages and future times, seeing civilizations build just to crumble a moment later.

Traveling among different galaxies, different worlds, with one constant Northern Star, in the form of a strong hand always gripping her own.

"Yeah," Rose breathed. "I do."

And with that, she clicked off the light.


	7. Chapter 7

**Golly, I love writing this story. Please read and review! Thank you!**

"Rose? Rose, you all right?"

Rose blinked, trying to see clear the fog clouding her vision. She tried to move, which quickly issued a groan from her lips. Her head pounded painfully, as if her heart had taken up residency there, or like her skull had taken a beating from something. Maybe she'd hit her head, coming to...

Rose tried to regroup, her eyes finally clearing and she found herself staring down into darkness. Wait, no not down. Up. She was looking at the sky, studded in stars all tethered by some invisible seam to an expansive black curtain.

It was quickly blocked out though, by a head of unkempt hair and brown eyes staring up from above. "Rose?" the Doctor asked over her, tone laced with concern.

She tried sitting up again, earning herself another skull-knocking.

The Doctor lowered his hands to her shoulders gently. "Go slow," he directed. "That form of travel can scramble the head."

"You're tellin' me," she said, voice thick and rocky. She managed to pull herself into a sitting position with some assistance, and she gazed around, struggling to get her bearings.

Pinpricks of light shows from the distance, spilling out of bricked buildings and onto the pavement. Trees stood to her right, their silhouettes, their appearance spectral and unearthly. Rose became aware of the ground, the softness of upturned dirt replaced by cold road.

And she found that she was wet, a steady sheet of rain coming sown in what would soon be a torrential downpour.

The Doctor helped her to her feet. "So we're not dead," Rose noted. "That's always a good thing to find out."

"Right!" The Doctor grinned at her, but it seemed somewhat forced. "Yes, very alive? Check. Rain? Check. No nasty creatures hanging around? Check, check."

"Where are we?" Rose asked, as if hoping the dark road would divulge some kind of secret.

The Doctor turned around, so quickly his damp hair slapped against his forehead but it seemed to go by unnoticed. He held a finger in the air. "Interesting," he mused. "Very telling."

"So you know where we are?"

"Actually it's not," he deadpanned. "I've got no idea where this is. Not even a lick."

"Well it's night," Rose said, tone lilting with obviousness. "And...wet. Can we maybe go someplace less wet?"

The Doctor nodded, droplets of water falling from his hair. "Yes, I'd say that's a good start. Let's head to those lights over there. Perhaps it's a comfy little inn. Or a coffee shop. Oh, I could really go for a cuppa."

He cast a sideways glance at Rose, appraising her sodden state with a smirk. "Maybe make that two."

* * *

It wasn't an inn, they soon discovered, nor a coffee shop, but a bar. The smell of liquor wafted through the door, but it was surprisingly vacant, empty turn-chairs sitting idle at the counter.

Rose stared around, noticing the creaking wood, the plush booths. There were a few other men in the bar, sitting in solitude or speaking in hushed monotone voices.

Rose pursed Her lips. "I don't think they carry tea."

"Nope, unless it's Irish," the Doctor's frown turned distasteful. "And I don't like my tea Irish."

They moved over to the booths and took a seat, the Doctor spinning twice in the chair before setting his elbows on the counter. He steeped his fingers and stared around, speculative.

Just then a man came bustling in, cloth and glass in hand. His face was shadowed in stubble, his eyes seemingly a colorless blue.

He glanced at the Doctor and then at Rose. "What I can I get for you?"

"Ah!" The Doctor drawled, smiling pleasantly. "American! Are we in the states?"

"How much have you had to drink?" The bartender asked, looking less interested in giving him more alcohol.

The Doctor shook his head. "Just woke up on the wrong side of the cot. Still a bit fuzzy," he swirled a finger in front of his temple to demonstrate. "Tell me, what's this place called?"

"Jim's," the man responded gruffly.

"Does that make you Jim?"

"Depends on who's asking," he said, setting down the cloth and turning his attention fully on the Doctor. "I want no trouble."

The Doctor lifted his hands defensively. "Trouble? Who said anything about trouble? I was just making small chit chat. New in town, you see. Foreigners, us. In case you haven't caught the accent. Or maybe we aren't foreigners and you're the foreigner. Tell me which is it?"

Jim gave an incredulous shake of his head. 'What, did you just escape from a psyche ward? Next thing you'll be asking is what year it is."

The Doctor shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to throw that in there, would it?"

"Look," Rose butted in, no longer concerned about civility. "We're both wet. Were worn out and its not like we're asking for government secrets. So could you just tell us what we want to know?"

The Doctor gave Jim an expectant look. "She gets a bit grouchy when she's tired," he added behind a hand.

Jim put a fist on his hip. "This is New York, Ma'am. Manhattan. The year is 1936 and Yes," he turned his eyes on the Doctor. "I'm Jim."

"Manhattan?" Rose breathed in surprise. "What we doin' in Manhattan?"

"Dunno," the Doctor shrugged. "Maybe it was random? Or could've been drAwn something. Too late to find out now. I'm the-I'm John. John Run. This is Rose. Now that we have that , tell us, do you got any rooms available for the night?"

"I can offer you the loft," he said, casting a glance between the two. "That's all I've got."

"Sold!" The Doctor yelled. "How very kind of you, Jim. Thanks. Should probably tell you,we've got no money. Unless you take credit,which you won't. At least,not for another forty years or so."

"I don't know what you mean by that, But as the lady said, you're both wet and its getting late. If I turn you away, my wife'll skin me."

"That's...less kind," the Doctor said. "But kind all the same!"

Jim escorted them to the loft, gesturing them inside where they both stood, feeling instantly awkward.

"I'll grab some towels for you," Jimsaid, before leaving them alone.

The place was nice enough; walls covered in a decorative print, a lush chair pressed to a wall with two small tables stationed beside it. But Rose was uncomfortably aware of the presence of the bed.

The one, single, bed that occupied the middle of the room.

It was a while before either of them spoke.

"Ill take the floor," they spoke in unison.

"No," Rose started. "Ill take the floor. I'm used to sleeping in hard places."

"YOU are?" The Doctor said exasperated. "No, ill have the floor. You take the bed."

"But it's freezing."

"Not helping your case."

"Doctor-"

"Nope, see?" He splayed himself over the ground, putting an arm under his head for support. "The floor likes me. And I like it. A comfortable thing it is, the floor. Always there for you when you need it."

Just then, Jim entered the room, holding a few towels and articles of clothing between his hands. He stopped. Met the Doctor's gaze. And shook his head once more. "Im not even going to ask," he said.

A little while later, Rose Sat in the chair in a dry nightgown, hand clasped around a warm cup of tea. Contrary to her earlier assumption, she was pleased to find they did have tea.

Her hair was still wet, but Rose didn't mind, focused on watching the Doctor spread out a flimsy wool blanket across the floor.

"This is ridiculous," she complained. "You're gonna catch pneumonia!"

He let out a chortle. "I've sat in the back row of the Colosseum. Organized scrolls at the Library of Alexandria. I've watched the first screening of Snow White with Disney. I'm not going to let something as human as pneumonia stop-"

He gave out a cough.

"Oh, that's it," Rose stood, setting down her tea and snatching up the blanket. "No floor for you."

"What was that?" The Doctor said, somewhat disgustingly. He looked down the front of his barrowed shirt that was two sizes larger than him. "I don't catch a cold! Colds to this body is practically unlawful!"

"Guess that means I get the floor." Rose dropped to her knees indignantly.

The Doctor wasn't having it. "With wet hair? Do you know your chances of catching a cold increases by seventy eight percent with a damp head? And I need you in perfect health!"

Rose sighed loudly. She was exhausted and annoyed, not to mention completely terrified over the prospect of being stuck in the 1930's. A country over from her own.

But somehow, she was taking it in stride, used to the feeling of different ground beneath her. Different air in her lungs. Except here, there was no certainty of return. No Tardis. No dimension cannon. No way of getting back.

She crawled onto the bed and laid down with an unceremonious flop. "Then we'll both sleep up here. Neither of us will catch a chill and we'll be ready by tomorrow. Besides, its not the first time we've slept close to each other. Unless you're that..." she needed to stop talking. She always ran off with her mouth, especially in awkward situations."Unless that weirds you out or somethin'."

She noticed he still hadn't spoken,but wouldn't turn around, not wanting to face the risk of him catching sight of her red cheeks. "You all right with that?" She added into her pillow.

He coughed again, but she doubted this time from the cold. "Yeah, so long as you are."

"Well I'm fine with it. "

"Me too."

"So we're good then?"

"Great."

He still didn't move. Rose was tempted to look at him but refused, making out as if to be settling down for the night.

Eventually, she felt the bed dip with his weight, easing some as he laid flat. Rose had been tired a few minutes ago,but now she felt herself more alert, her heart beating somewhat faster than normal. She hoped he didn't hear it.

Instead, she decided to address the real problem on their hands. "D'you think we'll be able to get back?" She suddenly asked, her mind turning to her mum and Tony, to Pete still sifting through files of the dead and red dots on a map. Would that be her one day? Existing as nothing more than a blinking dot? Being nothing more than a pile of bones?

The thought made her shiver.

"Lets see," the Doctor drawled, and Rose imaged him twiddling his thumbs. "We're trapped in the 1930's New York, without a time machine and Weeping Angels going nutty in about 72 years...Eh, it's duable."

Rose smiled at his optimism.

"I should've seen it," He added, almost bitterly.

The smile slipped from her lips. "No," she said, shifting around to face him. He was exactly how she pictured, laying on his back with his hands resting on his chest. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was so certain about that siphon theory,too." He clicked his tongue. "Ah, but there really was no way for it to account for the radiocarbon dating."

The Doctor turned on his side until he was facing her now, molten brown eyes staring into hers. "Huge let down, that is. But on the bright side, we found the where, the what, and the how in one go. That's impressive."

"What about the why?" She asked.

"The why? The why is simple- survival. Weeping Angels never go dormant, they just go...dry. They did it because that's just what they do. Gotta figure out how to send them away, still. Once we get back."

Once. Not if.

"But if they just drop you back in time, wouldn't those that disappeared from their city stay in their city? Why're we in New York instead of London?"

The Doctor blew out a long breath. "I suspect external interference. It seems too coincidental that it started during all the reality-collapsing shindig. And I'm not a big believer in coincidence. Besides," he shrugged. "Weeping Angels have a habit of popping up when you least expect it. You see, When the wall was down, it put a great big target on this parallel world. Its probably what attracted them to it. And when this world sealed itself up again, its sealed them in with it."

The exhaustion was steadily making its way back into Rose's bones, weighing them down like lead. But this was important. She couldn't give in yet. "That explains the disappearances. The whacky dates. The random locations. But what about the deaths? Everyone dying a day after they were taken?"

The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Paradox, I reckon. Those people disappeared and wound up in the past. Who's to say how many timelines they crossed, including their own? While one was reliving the day before their disappearance, the other was presently experiencing it. They couldn't pass up their own time of death because they'd already died. They were dead the second anyone laid eyes on their body."

"So finding them...was What condemned them? But some were found so quickly!"

"That's because they weren't supposed to be there. Even before they were found, they were meant to be found. If they hadn't been, Pete wouldn't have gotten involved, and wouldn't have called us in. Then we wouldn't have gone to the graveyard and we'd still be in the living room of your mum's house listening to her badger the newswoman on the telly."

Rose stifled a yawn. "But why does that matter? We didn't even manage to tell anyone."

"Because I was the one who found the ring," The Doctor explained. "I'm the one that saw the year on the inscription and the moment I did that," he snapped his fingers, "it was done."

"What goes around comes around, they say," said Rose.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But who's 'they?'

Rose yawned again. "I dunno. Its just they."

"The wizard behind the curtain," the Doctor breathed in a haughty tone. "The ominous 'they.'"

Rose finally felt the weight of her day settle on her shoulders, weighing her farther into feather pillows.

"S'pose its time for bed," The Doctor mused. "Want the light out?"

Rose shook her head heavily. "I'm not really eager to be in the dark again."

"Quite right. I'm not too inclined myself," he sighed. "Night then, Rose."

Despite the fact that they were relatively safe, surrounded by warmth and the comfort of light, Rose instinctively stretched out her hand, until her fingers grasped around her Northern Star.

"Goodnight, Doctor."


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor became aware of breathing. Not his own, though and his eyes fluttered open. He glanced at his chest.

And froze.

A mess of blonde hair rested in the crook of his arms, his own hands wrapped around Rose's body, who was still fast asleep.

Against his will, the Doctor's single heart started beating erratically. Caused by adrenaline, he thought. That was weird. He never had irregular aortic palpitations from anything but his constant running. Either that or he was having a heart attack.

His arm did hurt, but that was probably due to the fact a person was lying on it, and who knew for how long she'd been?  
The Doctor swallowed, wondering if he should try to attempt extracting himself from her, But that ran the risk of waking her.  
And which was worse? Rose finding them like this or Rose finding him trying to get out of this?

No, no. He'd just stay here, and wait for her to notice first. As if on cue, Rose started to stir and the Doctor shut his eyes again.

She snuggled farther into his side and then the Doctor felt her stiffen. He tried to act nonchalant, as nonchalant as he'd expect hinself to be while asleep.

Suddenly, Rose lurched up so quickly, she almost tumbled from the bed.  
The Doctor, hoping to seem as impassive as possible, made it seem as if he was just waking.

He stretched his arms over his head and let out a fake yawn.  
"What's wrong?" He asked Rose, eyes to her widened one's."Something the matter?"

"What?" Her voice was high and she scuttled from the bed, tripping on the floor as she went. "Nope, nothing's wrong. I'm going to get changed. Meet you downstairs. Or here. Whatever." She quickly left the room.

Her cheeks were still red when Rose returned to the bar, plunking down on a stool and trying to avoid looking bothered. Was she bothered?

Perhaps that wasn't the right word. Confused, that was a good one. Rose was confused. And waking up in the Doctor's arms had been jarring, and not because she'd been uncomfortable. Glancing sideways at the Doctor, The memory of it started again in its umpteenth loop, and Rose forced herself to breathe, as if she could also force the blood away from her cheeks.

She wondered if the Doctor were trying to do the same, but then again, he didn't see where she'd been lying, so why would he? No, the Doctor was perfectly content sipping his tea and turning in a circle on his bar stool.

"Good morning," Jim said, coming down the stairs. The bar keeper appeared more refreshed and a little less rough and it seemed to Rose that his blueless eyes were no longer so dull. "Sleep well?"

Rose swallowed, and she swore the Doctor choked on his tea."Yeah," He answered immediately, putting down the cup. "Very well. Very Very well, in fact. Didn't we Rose?" He seemed to realize just then how that sounded and pursed his lips.

"Anyway, she slept fine, I slept fine. How about you, Jim? Did you and the wife sleep fine?"

"Like the dead."

He smirked, but quickly turned it into a smile. "That's...good, albeit a tad morbid. Anyway, we should be off. Don't want to impose on you any further. You've been a hospitable host, Host."

"You haven't even eaten yet," Jim argued. "At least take some toast or something."

"Well," the Doctor shrugged. "If you're offering."

A few minutes later they left Jim's, the Doctor balancing a precarious amount of bread on his hand, staring put at the now visible city before them.

"So," Rose piped up, speaking for the first time since this morning. "Where to now?"

"Now?" The Doctor eyed the dark clouds coming from above, spliced down the center with sunlight. "Now we do some digging. Not with our hands this time but with these," he tapped his temple.

Rose blew out a sigh, glancing down the black road they'd ended up on last night. It was no longer vacant, but full of bustling cars that Rose had only ever seen on occasion or in a locomotive museum. People them, women in their doltish hats and clutching beaded purses, men with their husky cigars and pressed suits. Among them, Rose stood out like a white flag, earning a couple strange looks tossed her way.

She clicked her tongue. "Where do we start?"

"Oh, you know the drill," the Doctor said, stuffing his free hand in his pocket before crossing the road. Rose scurried after. "Find stuff out, in the shops, on signs. From people. Better yet," he dropped off, gazing at something from the end of a street.

It was a little boy waving something in his hand, eagerly attempting to get the attention of passerbies.

"Newspaper. Yup, good place to start."

Rose had some coins in her pockets, and though they weren't American currency, the boy took them anyway. Hopefully he'd assume the year on them was some kind of minting mistake.

The Doctor rolled the newspaper and put it under his arm and he and Rose took a seat outside of some small pub. There, the Doctor set down his bread and retrieved the newspaper. "Now, let's see..." he crossed his legs and leaned back on his chair. "NY Herald Tribune, " he said, exaggerating the words. "November 28, 1936. Its a Saturday," the Doctor lowered it enough to cast Rose a wry smile. "I like Saturdays. Ta, ta, ta. Pravda criticizes Shostakovitch's Lady Macbeth Opera. Well, that's rude. Oh! Albert Saurraut became prime minister of France. Good for him. Australian Olympics...what's this got to do with New York anyway?"

"Maybe it's global. Can I have a look?" Asked Rose. The Doctor handed it peeled it open and quickly scanned the titles, some of the black ink smudging under her fingers. She was about to dub it uninteresting trivia when somehing finally caught her eye. "Oi, listen to this." Rose read aloud. "'1936 Olympics held in Germany, Berlin. Hitler gets humiliated by his Aryan Supermen after being beaten by Jesse Owens.' Never knew that happened."

"To Adolf, it never did. "But why's that of any particular interest?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "I'm reading about Hitler. Hitler. A man who will massacre millions. But right now, he's just..." she looked down at the paper again. "'Brainwashing the youths,'" She recited. She looked back at the Doctor. "The youth were a bunch of boys he herded into joining him, right?"

But the Doctor dismissed her question. "What's the article say?"

Rose returned her eyes to it. "Just what I said. 'Adolf Hitler's teachings continue its spread over Germany, influencing its people and brainwashing the youths."' Rose glanced back up at the Doctor, who'd adapted his glazed look, the one that Rose knew to mean he was thinking.

"What?" She asked, not liking being excluded from his epiphany. "What is it?"

"Interesting word choice," he reflected, still staring off at something beyond Rose's shoulder. "Very interesting, in fact. Know why?"

Rose shook her head.

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "Brainwashing, the term, was first associated with Chinese POW interrogation methods, and was made popular during the Korean War."

Rose, not wanting to look thick, nodded. "Okay..."

His eyes finally met hers, sparkling in the patches of sunlight that streamed through the clouds. "The Korean War doesn't happen until 1950. So tell me, Rose. What's a term that won't be used for another 14 years doing in a 1936 news article?"

For that, Rose had no answer.

* * *

"The New York Tribune building," the Doctor mumbled, gazing up at the bricked tower before them. "To think I worried about it being something less obvious."  
He turned back to Rose. "A. J. W, was it?" He asked, referring to the name beneath the article they'd found. Or the remnants of part of one.

Rose nodded. "Yup."

The Doctor grimaced. "Bit cryptic, that. Well! Lets see if we can find this mysterious A.J.W. I'm picturing someone in a belt or two, just to contain the girth."

Rose chuckled at the thought and accepted the Doctor's outstretched hand.

Inside the building, the first smell they were hit with was the bitter aroma of cigars. It seemed to fog up the place just a bit, casting the cubicled room in a slight haze.

Rose swatted at it, though it didn't do much good; the smoke was smothering.  
"I feel like I've lost a year of my life just stepping inside this place," she muttered, eyeing the room in distaste. It was like something out of an old photograph, enhanced with movement and given computers sat on the desks. No cell phones were ringing off the chain. There were phones, but the archaic kind, that rang with an ear-shattering shrill. People scuttled to and fro like bugs, in a flurry of papers, jarbled words, and directives.

"Looks like fun," said the Doctor and Rose shook her head.

Suddenly, the Doctor lifted a hand. "Scuse me!" He called, attempting to adapt an American accent. A few people blinked at him. "Hate to interrupt your work, but I have a question and then I'll let you return to your...schedules." That's where he lost it, saying the word as no American would. He still tried to get through it and Rose was finding it exceedingly difficult not to laugh.

"Would anyone mind directing me to someone who goes by the initials A.J.W?"

More blinks. Others just ignored him completely. The Doctor scratched his head. "No? Is this not the New York Tribune building? Or is there another?"

"You might try talking to Reid," one man muttered beside Rose, eyes framed glasses and cigar smoke. He must have to clean those every other minute, Rose thought to herself.

The Doctor approached him. "Sorry, who?"

"Ogden Reid. Publisher. Office is that way," the guy pointed to a pair of double doors.

At his assistance, the Doctor beamed. "Thank you...American," he settled on before trudging off in that direction.

Past the doors led to a square office. Desk. But the man who sat at it was far from what Rose had envisioned. He was young, strappy even, with short dark hair and glittering brown eyes.

He glanced up as they walked in, his desk full of papers that the oak surface was nearly unrecognizable.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a voice that seemed to echo from the old classic movies Rose had watched on occasion.

"Sorry for the intrusion," the Doctor responded hastily. "We wete just hoping you could point us in the direction of A.J.W?"

The man-Ogden, raised his eyebrows. "A. J. W? Do you know him?"

"Well if I did, I don't right think I'd be asking you now would I?"

Ogden smiled and Rose was reminded of Desi Arnez for a second, just a bit taller and not Cuban. "No," He said. "Guess not. A.J.P is not one of my writers."

"But he's in your newspaper," the Doctor pointed out.

Ogden nodded. "Yeah. He is. But I've never met the man. I get his work through mail. Or he drops it off at the in-basket. That's about it."

"Well," languished the Doctor, taking a seat before the man's desk and Rose followed suit. "I-we-need to speak with him. So do you have anything that could help us with that?"

"Is he in trouble?"

The Doctor appeared crestfallen. "Why do I keep getting asked that? I just want some friendly chit chat and you people always assume the worst. Has he been doing stuff that deserves trouble?"

Ogden shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Then there you have it! No, we just need to speak with him regarding an article we were ever so intrigued by. Right, Rose?"

She nodded, smiling for effect. "That's why."

"So, Ogden Reid, publisher of the New York Herald Tribune, owner of this posh desk, think you could help a couple foreigners out?"

The young man glanced between them, scrutinizing both, eyes lingering on Rose. Then again, that could be because of her odd attire. She really needed to remember to get a change of clothes.

Odgen sighed. "I can give you a return address. I'm under no oath or in violation of confidentiality since he's not one of mine." The man took a pencil and jotted down some numbers. He handed it to the Doctor. But he didn't let go and Ogden met his eyes. "I don't know your intentions, but I hope they're clean."

The Doctor returned it with his own seriousness. "I swear no harm. Just a question on his article."

Ogden nodded and let the scrap of paper go. Both the Doctor and Rose said a thanks and out they were, back into the cubicles, past the smoke and into the fresh air.

They spared a moment to take greedy lungfuls before setting off in one direction, only to double back after Rose asked someone where Main Street was.

"I don't like asking for directions," the Doctor said grimly.

Rose laughed. "You are so human."

It took a total of three inquiries and one long walk for them to reach their destination. A housing complex, it appeared to be, still in the middle of the city but made seemingly more private by its solitude and lack of activity.

Rose bit the inside of her cheek and was going to wait for the Doctor to make his first move. But this was just as much her mission as it was his and she had to remind herself that he was still adjusting. Not to just the environment, but himself as well. With that newfound resolution, Rose strode down the fenced walkway, through the small gate, and up the stairs.

The Doctor was at her heels in a second, and they both stopped at the top of the flight, eying the red door.

"If this turns poky," the Doctor whispered to Rose. "We run. If we get separated, we meet back up at Jim's. All right?"

"Okay."

He knocked.

A moment passed, one filled with bottomless silence, but then footsteps picked up and Rose felt her heart quicken as the door swung open.

A woman stood in the entryway, young and pretty, her amber hair cascading down a shoulder.

She exchanged a glance between the Doctor and Rose, curiosity and a little suspicion clouding her light eyes.

"Yes?"

"Hello," the Doctor put on a welcoming smile. "I'm John Run. This is my associate Rose. We were wondering if we could have a word with A.J.W? Bit ambivalent, I know. But we wanted to ask him a few questions about his article. Is he at home?"

The girl smirked. Or smiled, Rose couldn't really tell. "Yeah, he's home all right," She said in a voice that was clearly not American.

The Doctor clasped his hands together. "Great! Can we speak with him?"

This time there was no mistaking the woman's smile. "You already are."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed in surprise. "You're him? A. J. W? The writer?"

She held out a hand. "Amelia Williams, the _journalist_."


End file.
